A different side of the sun
by Cepticon
Summary: Ironhide loses a bet, that forces him to find out, that there is more to Sunstreaker than just violence and vanity.


breem= 10 mins

groon=1 hour

decacycle= 1 week

cycle = 1 day

-x-x-

"Vector Sigma. Ah've never had a worse day in mah whole gambling history!" Ironhide growled, throwing his cards onto the table in frustration.

The times had been stressful lately. Constant Decepticon attacks, next to no time to rest. After a lots of tough battles the Autobots had managed to push the enemy back and out of the region, gladly without many casualties. Although still a little battered, everyone was safe for now, thanks to Ratchet's not so tender loving care. So to enjoy the days of rare peace, the bots on down-time had decided to play a round of poker in the rec. room, before everyone else came to the party, the Prime had arranged for the troops to relax, in complete ignorance of Prowls protests. In the end the prospect of free time, a party and high grade en mass lead to an overly joyous mood, which caused Jazz, Blaster, Hound, Cliffjumper, Brawn, Smokescreen, Trailbreaker and Irohide to add an extra bet to their little game of Cybertron Hold'em.

"That was some nasty streak of bad luck, man." Jazz put in with a wide grin on his faceplate.

"'Guess it's you who has to ask our personal supernova."

The red weapons specialist only mumbled some angry words in response. He wasn't a bad loser, he would do it, a bet was a bet and a game lost was lost. It had simply been a bad cycle for him; which seems to have brought an even worse decacycle. Many bets coursed through the Autobot ranks at different times, it was a nice way for the troops to relieve some pent up stress and worry, to just live and forget about the war for a moment. They tried to do a different bet every time, so things wouldn't get boring; and this time, things could get really ugly. Ironhide sighed, as he stood up from the table, to get himself another cube of high grade, if he was as unlucky as before, this one might be his last.

Normally, personal files and pasts were treated privately, for different reasons, so no one knew things about the other they didn't tell. Everyone on base knew that Sunstreaker liked to paint, to relieve some stress, but no bot on base had ever seen a piece of his art. Mirage was the only noble that came to earth to fight, Ironhide himself had known the pieces, due to his creator, but not the one who made them. A few weeks ago the tower mech had let the information slip, that their fiercest warrior with a temper hotter than his namesake, had actually been a famous artist back on Cybertron. His past as a gladiator in Kaon was not a secret, bots and cons alike knew about his violent upbringing, but neither would have guessed that he painted. It just didn't fit into their picture. So to make their game of poker a little more interesting, they used the piece of recently gained, still unproven information and made a bet out of it. The overall loser of their 20 rounds had to ask the infamous twin to draw a picture of the loser in his protoform, no armor allowed. Ironhide had one week to deliver the painting, or he had to take three shifts of every mech who had partaken in the game, in addition to his own. He would have just decided to take the shifts, but he had a reputation to uphold. Ironhide was the field commander, he was the superior of the twins, how bad would it look to show that you're afraid of your own men? It didn't matter how much he wanted to avoid it, he had to ask. So the unlucky Autobot waited for the party to start. He sipped at his cube and watched the mechs enjoy themselves, as he saw Sideswipe, who had just come back from patrol to join the party, sit down at a table. After downing the contents of his cube Ironhide walked over to the prankster and sat down next to him.

"So..." The older bot started a bit awkwardly.

"Is 'yer brother coming tonight?"

Sideswipe looked a little startled, but answered nonetheless.

"I tried to make him join, but he refused to budge. Why do you ask?"

Nervously Ironhide rubbed his head, before he folded his hands together, fumbling a little. "Ya know... Ah've lost a bet and now I need yer twin to paint me in my protoform." The older warrior had thought that Sideswipe would laugh at him, or throw some dirty jokes, but instead the chipper mech's faceplate turned dead serious.

"If this is some kind of prank payback, I suggest you rethink. This isn't something you should be playing with."

"Making a mech's weapon shoot colored paper isn't either! ... But no, ah'm not planning to make a joke out of it. It's a bet as every other. Ah thought you could help me find the right approach. We both know how volatile Sunstreaker can be an ah like mah spark pulsing."

The red Lamborghini snickered for a moment.

"I only tempered with the guns used for target practice!" He downed his cube, before returning to the serious expression, that was so rare on the red frontliner.

"But you know, that is exactly the problem. This is why you bots can't get close to Sunny."

"What is?" the bigger mech asked, confused.

Sideswipe let out a long sigh, shoving his empty cube into the middle of the table.

"Everything. The whole way you act when he's around. Every time Sunny enters a room, bots scramble away, tune down the volume of their voice boxes and follow his movements as if he were to attack at any moment. You treat him like he's a constant threat! Some of you even try to aggravate him, to prove to Optimus, that he isn't fit to be in our ranks! None of you has ever tried to be nice to him. You all just cower and hiss and keep distance unless you're forced to work with him. Not even Bluestreak talks to him! He hasn't done anything to deserve this kind of treatment from you. Yes, we've gotten into fights and we've done our nasty pranks, but he has only ever really attacked the enemy. He might lash our when angered, and I admit that it doesn't take much, but violent isn't all he is. Sunny's got lots of other sides on him as well and it fraggs me off that you can't see them, because you don't give him a chance."

Ironhide stopped the fiddling with his hands, he had not suspected that speech.

"Wow. Ah've never seen it that way. Yer right, we aren't exactly nice to him. Seen like this it's no wonder he doesn't like us."

Sideswipe got up and took his time to fetch two new cubes. If Sunstreaker had been here, he would have gotten mad at him. Sometimes the red frontliner was a little bit too talkative. Maybe he shouldn't have said that; but maybe it was the right thing to do. When the Lamborghini made his way back to the table he looked determined.

"You know what 'Hide? If you really want to go through with that bet, then go ahead. I suggest to just go up and ask him. Stop treating him like he's some kind of monster and see what it'll do. That's all I can say." With that, the twin placed one of the cubes on the table and went the other way to enjoy the party and dance to some strange earth music, leaving the older warrior to his own thoughts.

Ironhide didn't overcharge himself that nightcycle.

-x-

Due to military routine, the older warrior rose out of recharge early. He had only been able to initiate for a few groons. Sideswipes words and what the normally immature bots words suggested had refused to leave his processor. The youngin' was right. Salg and how right he was. They had never even given Sunstreaker a chance, he was deemed dangerous and decepticonesque the moment he stepped into the Autobot's side of the war. The _Autobot's_ side. Primus they had been some fraggers. Not that the golden twin was any nicer, but he came from the pits, gladiators simply were a mistrusting bunch for good reasons; and all of them went right ahead and made his mistrust rightful. His creator would probably smack him upside the helm for his stupidness. Sighing, Ironhide stood up from his berth, fetched himself a cube of energon and cleaned himself up a little, before walking down the corridors of the ark to the twins quarters. Once there, he stood before the door, motionless, his hand raised and ready to knock; but he didn't. 'It's too early' he thought to himself, 'They're probably still recharging'. He also didn't have the slightest clue what he was going to say. No, he knew exactly what he wanted to say, he just felt he couldn't. 'Sorry for judging you right away' it was easier to think it, than actually say it. He felt dumb right now, like some new recruit who just processed what his Instructor had told him all the time. He shouldn't have let himself be influenced by the rumors. It was unprofessional and it had stopped him from getting to know his fighters better.

"Do you need anything?"

A deep, resonant voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

Ironhide looked up, he hadn't even noticed that he had been staring at the floor.

"You're awake." He wanted to facepalm at his own sentence.

"Obviously" came the growled response.

"Your brother?"

"Overcharged, so he's still knocked out. We're off duty today and not taking any shifts, go ask someone else." Sunstreaker said and pressed the doorpanel.

That sentence hit some nerve inside the older warrior. The golden Lamborghini always assumed you're talking to him about work, only now did he see that the reason for that was that it was all anyone talked to him about. Except Sideswipe of course, but being his spark's other half, he didn't count.

"Wait!" Ironhide half barked and grabbed the door just before it could close.

"I need you to paint a picutre!" He wanted to slap himself.

'Smooth.' He thought. 'Just great.'

"Are you trying to mock me?" Sunstreaker's deep voice dropped to downright dark as he closed in, poised and ready to fight.

"No, no Ah just..." The twin's superior exvented, to calm himself and looked the raging sun into his blazing optics.

"Ah'm not trying to mock you. Ah'm not gonna lie to you either. Listen, ah've lost a bet an now I need you to paint me. You don't have to, Ah just wanted to ask. Ah'll leave you alone right away, sorry."

Just as Ironhide turned to take his leave Sunstreaker spoke again.

"A bet?"

The red warrior turned back again, to see that the other's stance was no longer aggressive. 'Though his expression still was.

"Mirage let it slip, that you were a famous artist back on Cybertron, so the bots thought they'd make a bet to see how good you were, since you don't let anyone on base see your paintings."

The furious expression of the vain warrior made the other stiffen.

"To see how good I am?! A bet!" The Lamborghini growled,

"as if it is some kind of punishment to be drawn by me!"

Ironhide steeled himself not to move, he wanted to back away. It seems he had struck a sensitive point. He could hold himself very well in a fight, but the golden ex-gladiator could be downright scary when angered. That was what Sideswipe had meant about this better not being a joke. Just as the weapons specialist wanted to give in to his base program and back off, before this ended in a brawl, he remembered the rest of the red twin's words. 'Stop treating him like he's some kind of monster and see what it'll do.'

"Ah know it's pretty fragged up of them. Don't take it to yer spark, they were quite overcharged at the time."

Even though that was exaggerated, it felt right to say, it's what he would tell a friend in such a situation.

"Aren't you going with it?" Sunstreaker said his tone irate, but slightly bitter.

"Yes Ah am, but to be all honest, Ah also do it, because Ah'm interested in art."

At that, the frontliner looked taken aback.

"What?" He said, giving Ironhide a confused glance.

"Mah creator was deeply enamored with the pieces of an artist back on Cybertron. Our housing was covered in the paintings. Ah haven't been interested in art before and Ah have no clue about it, but Ah've found them pretty. Mah creator always wanted to meet that artist, but never had the chance to. The cycle he wanted to visit one of his galas the pavilions were attacked and the war broke out. Now he's supporting the troops from Regulon two. Ah thought it would be nice to see some art again. Believe it or not, the war is takin' a toll on mah processor, too."

The golden Lamborghini still leveled him with a hard, mistrusting stare but nodded slowly.

"I'll paint your picture." He decided, although he had a nasty feeling he was going to regret it. He'd probably end up in the brig later for having to take his revenge on some guilty bots who thought they had to ridicule him, but he hadn't had a model to paint in a long time and it would be a welcome change to paint something other than landscapes again.

Sunstreaker lead Ironhide to the far end of the crashed ship, to a room they had carved into the stone of the volcano. The room had been build after the Prime had learned, that disturbing the volatile warrior during his art therapy was a bad Idea and Prowl had nearly lost a doorwing. No one usually ventured this far into the damaged side of the ark, it was the perfect place. As soon as the artist had entered the code into the doorpanel and the inside of the room was revealed, Ironhide's vents hitched.

"It was you. The artist mah creator was so in love with. Ah know that style when Ah see it."

Sunstreaker turned, ready to defend himself against the bold mockery, but he halted in his tracks, when he saw that the older bot's expression was... genuine.

"If you still want that painting, you should go in.", said the golden Lamborghini after a short while.

Ironhide nodded and stepped into the room, his optics still sweeping over all the paintings that graced it with their beauty. He hadn't seen anything like this since back on Cybertron. It had such a nice nostalgic feeling to it.

"Ah would be honoured."

Sunstreaker nearly caught himself smiling at that.

"That's more like it." He said, his mood appeased, now that his ego was stoked being again, he was a vain mech, but he knew it and he couldn't do anything about it. He loved to be adored, he was a sports car after all, a masterpiece himself, as many Cybertronians had told him before. Even on other planets his frame was highly praised. The artist looked over his paint supplies, thinking for a moment, about which medium he was to use.

"What kind of painting will it be?"

Ironhide looked off to the side and became a little flustered, when he thought about the details of the bet. Now he almost felt bad for having to ask such a thing. He didn't want to anger the artistic twin, especially not since he had meant so much to his creator.

"The bet stated, that ya needed to draw me with nothin' but protoform.", the weapons specialist half mumbled.

It was such a strange and awkward request. That was why it surprised him so much, when Sunstreaker wasn't shocked or appalled.

"Then I suggest oil paint. It's colors are rich and soft, it looks a lot more natural than acrylic paint and is more pleasing to the optics. Coal wouldn't have the effect we want for this. When I'm done with the painting none of those slaggers will ever say a bad word about my art again."

When the splitspark twin looked back to his model, he had to suppress a laugh. Ironhide's expression was downright ridiculous.

"Is something wrong?"

The baffled warrior looked even more confused now.

"Ya sayin' ya don't have a problem with it?"

Sunstreaker shook his head.

"It's a common practice. I have done lots of protoform portraits before, of mechs and femmes alike. As long as you don't have to open your Interface panel it's ok."

Ironhide began to see what Sideswipe had meant, when he said that violence wasn't everything to his brother, the side to Sunstreaker that he witnessed now was so completely different from what they all were used to. He seemed calm, almost friendly, not like his brother, but in his own way. There wasn't any hostility. Somehow this situation seemed very surreal. After a while the golden mech broke the silence again.

"Are you nervous?"

The red warrior averted his gaze again. Normally he wasn't shy at all, it just seemed so weird right now. He had no problem with stripping to his protoform in the medical bay or even the wash racks sometimes, when the grime of this organic planet had seeped through his transformation seams.

"Ah don't know, it feels kinda weird."

He answered in all honesty.

Sunstreaker sighed. He had lots of clients like this before. Most of them where nobles, who were gravely hesitant to lay off their armor in front of him. There were a few tricks to ease their shame or at least get them to comply so he could do what he was paid for. Ironhides portrait wouldn't get him credits, but he wanted to do it; simply because he hadn't done it since the war broke out, and it had a nice nostalgic feeling to it. The golden warrior strut over to a small shelf, that held a few blends of high grade. He filled two cubes and handed one to his model, before setting the other next to his easel. Sunstreaker had always felt that the brushes' flow was softer with a little buzz in his systems, just not too much. It also made his clients calmer.

"Thank you, but Ah can't drink that much. Ah've got a night shift this cycle."

Sunstreaker merely shrugged.

"Then drink it slowly. You don't have to down the cube in a breem."

He watched the older warrior sip at the brightly glowing mint green fuel, but even after half the cube his model had not started to remove his armor. With a slightly annoyed exvent the artist began to remove his own. He wasn't going to wait all cycle. One time had the golden mech done this before. Emotions weren't his forte, they were nearly entirely Sidewipes part of the spark, but this one client had gotten him so far as to remove his armor for her. Back on Cybertron he had painted lots of nobles in their protoform, but that one hadn't been a noble. It had been the creation of a merchant, who lost all of his credits to an accident. The pretty young femme was then used to pay for her creator's debts and sold into slavery, where she was forced to be a pleasure bot for some tower mech. To gain the highest price possible, the mech the merchant had owed, had commissioned Sunstreaker to make a painting of his merchandise that was to be sold along with her.

With his own background in the pits, the ex-gladiator couldn't help but try to convince the poor thing, rather than force her to comply. It was the only one except for Sideswipe, who had ever seen his protoform, as he was a very private mech. Not even Ratchet had managed to convince him to lay off his armor for a checkup. The medic was still trying though, it was his job after all. Ironhide actually beeped in shock, when he noticed.

"Ya don't have to, really. Ah get yer point." He stuttered in a flustered way and finally released the latches of his plating, inwardly cursing his words.

Although the warrior wasn't a pervert, he still didn't mind the view of a nice protoform and he had just ruined his opportunity, for Sunstreaker was already putting his shoulder armor, which he had started to remove back on; and he shared his opinion with many others when he said that the golden Lamborghini was one of the most handsome mechs to ever have graced Cybertron. That made his slip even more bitter.

Once all of his armor was down and placed on the side and his matt black protoform revealed, the artist began to look him over. Ironhide stiffened under the scrutinizing gaze until the younger mech nodded and went to the far corner of the room, where he retrieved an old fashioned shield and spear and handed it to the weapons specialist.

"Take the spear into your left, the shield in your right. Hold the shield over your waist and hip, make sure to leave a bit of the left side visible. Look to your left and stand proud as if you were honored for a battle well executed." He finally said, correcting the red warriors stance here and there, before moving behind his canvas.

While being painted, Ironhide studied the golden mech, quickly glancing over to him every now and then, before returning to his position. Everything he knew about Sunstreaker contradicted what he was seeing now. The yellow twin was violent and brash, always in a bad mood and all in all not someone you wanted to be around; but the way he moved the brush to his tablet, blending the colors with tender care to just the right tone, before he applied it to the canvas with a gentleness that rivaled Optimus' in his softest moments. His expression was neutral and while he was scowling a little, it was in concentration, not in anger. The mech was also really beautiful, even though he didn't like him, he often let his optics drift to the golden Lamborghini's neat curves and edges. It wasn't hard to see, that Sunstreaker was vain, but it was also clear to everyone _why._

His paint was always perfect, his frame naturally gorgeous, the fluent almost alluring, yet threatening way he moved could distract bots and cons alike during and outside of battle and his temper and strength were fuel for legends. As it seemed, so was his artistic talent. This was the mech that his creator was so enthralled with, not only _one_ of the most famous artists on Cybertron, but _the_ artist. The artist everyone wanted to see, the one who had sold his paintings for enough credits to buy five family units from slavery into the towers. Strange that he never even bought himself in. His creator had said, that he refused to become a tower mech, boldly so.

"Is something wrong?"

The deep resonant voice, that often sent a shiver down his spine broke his train of thoughts again.

"Wha?" Was the only thing the model could mutter.

"You're staring in the wrong direction." Sunstreaker said, returning to his painting.

"Ah'm sorry, Ah was just thinking."

-x-

The rest of the decacycle was a little more stressful then what the troops had guessed. Since the Decepticons were momentarily inactive, Prowl had come up with the the plan, to use the calmer cycles for training and further education. Ratchet had also put his hands in and ordered a full medical check up for all of them, so he could update his files and make sure everyone was at top functionality and had every anti-virus shot that was needed. So there wasn't much free time for Sunstreaker in between all the work, painting and avoiding the wrench harpy with his twin; still, at the end of the decacycle a finished portrait stood in the rec. room.

When Ironhide entered he was instantly surrounded by bots.

"No way man, what kind of trick is this?" Jazz began.

"I'm sure Hound has his hands in the game with his holo images." Cliffjumper added, to which the accused bot only shook his head.

"I have nothing to do with this. I couldn't do something like that even if I tired."

"Maybe but I still don't believe it. You cheated somehow." Smokescreen stated with crossed arms and a raised optical ridge.

Most of the other bots just crowded around the painting and stared at it, in confusion and awe.

"You've won the bet. They'll have take your shifts instead. This is definitely his." Mirage cut in,

"My creators have bought several of Sunstreakers pieces back on Cybertron. Collecting them was a sport among the noble and wealthy. I can tell it's his."

"Of course it's my brother's. No one else could make that old rustheap look this good." Sideswipe called, as he entered the room to see his twin's painting.

"Watch it younging' or I'll show you how old I am!" Ironhide called back, his fist waving at the red hellion.

"You couldn't catch me if I cut open all of my tires." The red Lamborghini returned with a grin.

"If you're getting us into the brig, now that we finally have some down time, I will cut open more than just your tires." Sunstreaker's deep voice droned from the door's threshold. Sidewipe gave his other half a guilty look and a grin, but just as the red split spark had stated before, everyone else suddenly went quiet. The circle around the canvas parted and everyone suddenly had to guzzle down energon at their respective tables, or scoffed at the ex-gladiator and threw him dirty looks. The golden mech didn't react to this at all. He just filled himself a cube at the dispenser and moved out of the rec. room again. Ironhide was quick to catch up, the painting carefully placed under his arm.

"Wait a click please, Sunstreaker."

The younger mech stopped and turned halfway to face the other.

"What is it?"

The weapons specialist stopped next to the sports car, indicating, that he could walk on if he wanted to, while keeping a respectful distance.

"Ah wanted to ask if t was ok for ya if Ah'd sent a copy of this painting to mah creator on Regulon two."

Without looking at the bigger mech, the twin walked on.

"Do as you wish, It's yours, you can have it."

Ironhide followed suit.

"Ah also wanted to ask if you wanted to spend some time, now that we both can enjoy a few cycles off. Maybe go drivin' a bit, Ah hardly know you and ah'd like to see more of ya."

Sunstreaker scoffed and rolled his optics.

"There won't be much you would want to see. I'm not good company."

This time it was Ironhide's turn to scoff.

"Now that is a lie. Ah know Ah'm not the most charming bot but give me a chance, mech."

A threatening growl was his only answer, before he realized his mistake and his hands shot up before him in a defensive way.

"Ah didn't mean it like that. Ah'm sorry. I just want to get to know ye a little."

The golden mech stopped before the quarters, he shared with his twin.

"Fine. Sideswipe will most likely join." He growled, typing his code into the doorpanel.

"That's ok with me. Then see ya tomorrow."

Sunstreaker nodded and disappeared behind the doors, regretting his actions and musing about all the possible bad outcomes, while Ironhide stopped to safely store the painting away in his room, sending out a copy, before he rejoined the others in the rec. room. A soon as he reentered he was greeted by Sideswipe again.

"What did I say?"

Ironhide tried to scowl, but couldn't suppress a smile.

"An right you were younging', Ah'm already eager to know what more there is to him."

The chipper twin just grinned softly and sipped at his cube.

"Just so you know, I'm definitely going with you tomorrow. No way I'm leaving you alone with my brother."

-x-x-

 _Quick oneshot._

 _I hope you enjoyed it._

 _Maybe I'm going to add a chapter, maybe even a few._

 _I haven't decided yet._


End file.
